The Blue Ice Deodora Cedar
by DeangirlSam1212
Summary: 'Aside from the stories Dean told Sam, there was no evidence of any other life, nor end to this Hell. And Dean wished he could show him otherwise.' Sam and Dean are trapped in an unknown torture chamber. Sam has answers, on how to get out and how they got there. But the shock settleing over him has set amnesia to blow in his mind.


Chapter 1

Dean woke from the nightmare with an unwillingness to open his eyes,

knowing there'd be no relief in what he would see.

But leaving them closed wouldn't help much anyway.

He could feel the chains shackling him to the familiar stone wall.

The worst part of which he could hear the ragged breathing of his little brother.

Sam had no memory of life outside of the cold; blood stained walls.

Shock setting a thick blanket of amnesia to cover his brain.

The torture was all Sam knew.

He didn't know it was wrong, and he didn't know any other purpose.

Aside from the stories, Dean told Sam, there was no evidence of any other life, nor an end to this Hell.

And Dean wished he could show him otherwise.

But, he couldn't, he was helpless to do anything but watch as the steal; barbed whip struck his fleshy bare back.

Over and over again, repeatedly.

The same ritual was played upon him too, but he was numb to the pain.

The sound of Sam's strangled; tortured cry echoing, and replaying in his head.

We are trapped here, like the others.

Kind of like a dog pound.

There was even a death role.

Except this one lasted for years at a time.

The brothers had only been four months, twenty-six days, and fourteen hours.

Their time wouldn't be for years to come.

And his knowledge of the time passage… Well, he's been counting.

Hadn't even noticed until Sammy asked him after one of his stories 'How long, Dean? How long has it been since we've seen the sun shine?'

Dean had known the answer, exactly.

Hell, he was eager to answer.

It was then he'd been unknowingly counting in his mind.

The tiny ticks of the teasing clock inside his head.

Counting off until the time came when he lost all sanity, and became too inhuman to be classified as one.

Dean, slowly, and achingly, bowed his head in prayer, even though he'd lost faith in that, months ago.

Sam doesn't remember.

He swears it because it's true.

No matter how much he wishes it a lie: it's true.

The demons say he will never remember again.

That it is impossible, but he is convinced of the complete opposite.

If he was never to remember, then why do they feed him that revolting oil-black, liquid to keep it as that?

Sam thinks it is because he saw something he shouldn't have.

Something to help escape.

Because, he knows there is something else out there.

This Hell does end somewhere.

He knows it from Dean, and the stories he tells him, and all of the wonderful detail he provides.

How happy they were.

Well, happy enough, it seemed like heaven compared to down here, where all you can manage is a weak mist of a smile.

And even that will end you in the torture room.

Sometimes, when the demons are late, with his daily dosage of the liquid, he remembers little snaps of how it used to be, but only a few of the memories stick.

Sam has dreams. Not nightmares, like Dean, but dreams.

Pieces of the puzzle that are missing. He never remembers them though.

He only knows to the split second of bliss he wakes to.

And he wants, oh so badly, to remember.

He does.

Sam tries his best to spit out the liquid with all his might, but the oil refuses to exit his lips.

It drops down to the floor but never drips of lets go.

And his hands are of no use, since they are chained to the wall and all.

But he hasn't given up hope.

Hope might be the thing to lead him to light.

But hope might also just be the thing to lead him to his death.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Sam sat down, with a half-hearted wince, onto the hard metal stool.

His plate of the food that taunted him of the consequences of eating it, and the ones if you don't.

The tray was full of pink, round; mouth numbing fruits; vegetables with jabbing spikes, at the edges, and pasta made from live parasites. Which had a side effect of dry heaving later.

Dean then picked the seat, beside him, to sit.

His big brother always made him eat this daily meal, not wanting Sam to starve, but still having no taste in the after effects.

Dean ate it to, but gave to no sign of pain, although it is guaranteed to be there.

Which gave him all the more reason for him to be Sam's hero.

But, Sam still wished that Dean would be more open with him.

Sam was his brother, for Pete's sake.

But Dean thought that he needed stone tough skin if he was to get them out from under this hell bus alive.

You see, like Sam, Dean hadn't abandoned hope yet either.

He was all the more determined to escape as Sam was.

Only difference was that Dean put his hope into action.

Even had a plan he was setting up.

Wouldn't tell Sam, yet, though.

Only telling him that there was one in progress, and when he asked, to be patient.

Sam wished he could help, he did.

But Dean refused it.

Just shook his head and turned away.

And Sam's frustration was getting blindingly overwhelming.

All he wanted was to be apart of the freedom raid.

Maybe he could find himself in his lost memories.

Author's Note:

Hey I'm sorry I haven't been posting lately.

My computer got a virus and broke.

Then I had to wait for this one to be put up.

Then I had a Halloween party [it was awesome by the way.]

And then finally I had to write the chapter.


End file.
